Category Archives: Happiness

Sometimes, when life gets you down, there’s only one thing to do… laugh it off.

I’m not going to say that laughter is the best medicine, because apparently someone else has already said that, but I will say that comedy is the one thing I can count on to restore my faith in love, life, and humanity… you know, for a good hour or so.

Because the truth is, nothing seems quite so bad if you can get yourself to laugh at it.

Speaking of which, have you all met my new boyfriend?

We’ve never met, of course… but when you are in love, I think you will find that you have to deal with all sorts of little obstacles, and it’s best to try not to let them overwhelm you.

Pick a comedian to be your secret lover, and give a (semi) detailed account of your perfect date together.

For example: On my secretly loving date with Jemaine, we will walk down the streets of Paris, serenading innocent passersby with a choice selection of show-tunes, which we will sing at full volume and without apologies. Later, we will go skinny-dipping in the Seine and be caught by an American paparazzo, who just happened to be walking by at the time. After being bailed out of prison (by none other than Rhys Darby, of course), we will retire to a perfectly charming Parisian hotel (or , you know, The Ritz) and eat chocolate-covered strawberries while Jemaine sings “Business Time” whilst playing the guitar… and of course I will be so impressed by his ability to both eat and sing and play the guiture that one thing will lead to another… and well… you know…

I know the correct term is “clothes horse”, but who are we kidding? I mean, really.

I thought I would take a brief moment today to talk about something other than sex (which, like everything else, is all in my head.) Although I will say, for those of you keeping track, that my sexuality is so looped at the moment, I am practically a gay man. Which means that if I tell you you’re hot, you have to take it as gospel. Seriously. Gay men don’t lie… at least not about that, anyway. (It also sort of explains my obsession with catchy show-tunes… and costumes… hmmm…)

But we digress (for now, anyway).

I love clothes. I mean, I LOVE clothes. Well, perhaps it is more like lust than love, but you get the idea.

Okay, who knows… but the point is, I want them! I don’t really need to save up money to go travelling, do I? I mean sure, travel would broaden my horizons and introduce me to new cultures and ways of thinking and art and music and life. But clothes I can have RIGHT NOW!

Damnit.

I guess I should probably focus on cultivating actual life experiences, instead of buying pretty things. But what can I say? I like the instant gratification.

Plus, clothes actually look good on me now!

In the past, shopping was all about what I needed in order to have a fully functional wardrobe. Shopping was fun in theory, but never in practice. In high-school this was because I had no money and had to depend on the charity of my parents… which meant buying hardly anything, EVER. But when I came back home from Toronto (where I “ran away to” the fall after graduation) shopping was even worse. No longer a mere irritation as it had once been, it had at this point graduated to the status of sheer TORTURE.

I had gained weight. Like, a lot of weight. And I had always been skinny! (You remember that scene in “Selena” where she says that the way she maintains her figure is by eating hamburgers and never exercising? Well that was pretty much me… only smaller.) Being over-weight(ish) made it pretty difficult to enjoy shopping, because everything I tried on just served as a reminder that I needed to lose weight. And really, did I need to be reminded of that every time I was innocently shopping for work-appropriate clothes? No, I did not!

All this discomfort with the way I looked was bad enough in itself, but to deprive me of the joy of new clothes? CRIMINAL. Because I LOVE new clothes. The way I feel about a store newly filled with the latest trends cannot be described. Although if it could, the words “lust” or “ravenous” would probably be thrown around quite a bit. It’s a little unhealthy, sure, but it’s also just one of the many things that quickens my pulse, causes my pupils to dilate, gets my blood boiling, and flushes my cheeks… which is a really good look, so really, who cares if it’s unhealthy?

Of course, it would be fine if I could just be a crazy-excited observer of fashion, an appreciator of the art, if you will. But I can’t. I have to get involved. I have to embody that new idea, that reinvented concept. And now that I find it easier to find things that look hot not only on the hangar, but on me as well, how can I refuse? I can’t, I tell you!

I have a talent, a wonderful thing… ’cause when I start to get bored I do some pretty strange things! When I’m not microwaving little princes or writing Adrien Brody fan fiction, I do something I have always been fond of… ever since I was a little girl. That thing is dress-up.

Occasionally, I will break out the fake blood and become a wicked-awesome vampire… but seeing as my hair is already far too dark these days, I decided to go another way. I pin-up-y way. Kind of.

Anyway, without further ado, here are the results of the photo-shoot entitled “Amber and the wig that won’t quit”

And to show what I mean by Pin-Up-y (and keep in mind these are not that great… and also that I can hear you laughing at me already!)

Included in “my ego” is also that dreadful thing call “self-esteem” which I have omitted from my vocabulary ever since reading The Virgin Suicides. But just for the sake of this post, I’ll restore it… temporarily. The thing about self-esteem is that it is fickle… it doesn’t really say anything about who you are as a person, or the root things that are informing that esteem. It’s kind of like calling a fedora a hat… you miss out on all the details by glossing over them and “dumbing things down.” and a fedora is so much more than a hat… I mean, really!

BUT, I will say that in regards to my appearance, my “self-esteem” is generally good. Or pretty good. Or whatever. There was a year or so when my weight was at an all time high and my hair-styling instincts were at an all time low… and that sucked! But since then I have managed to pair down my figure to the main essentials. LOL, Okay, okay – so I still have a bit of weight on me…. my stomach is not exactly “Gossip Girl” flat… I have hips, yo… and an ass, a good one (well, I like it!)… and my upper arms are a bit too big for my liking… but I have nice boobs, and really, what else is there? (I find it just a tad ridiculous that in this point in time, every woman wants to be smaller over-all, but the boobs always need to be bigger. What is that? Are we all really so keen to be walking, talking breasts? Because that is what it seems like…)

Basically, I am happy with the way I look. I know I’m no alpha, but I can work it with the best of them… sort of. And I take pride in the fact that I am not a girl who is perpetually “on a diet”, or who calls herself fat. I am not fond of the berating-myself-in-front-of-others-so-they-will-tell-me-I-am-wrong tactic. It’s exhausting to be on the other end of those things… I know. (But I will still do the pep-talk for my friends, or the “Shut up, you’re perfect” talk, in my case.)

So, yes, I am happy with the way I look… for the most part!

But now, dun-dun-dun! SUMMER IS COMING! Ahhhhhh!

So of course that could all shortly go to crap. Not because I will suddenly think that I need to look exactly like Jessica Alba in her bathing suit (because, right… that is so not happening!), but because I am obsessed with fashion. I want to own all the cool new stuff that I see coming out for the season, and I want to look hot in it! Unfortunately, summer clothes are made for sticks. Girls with curves do not look good in high-waisted shorts and tops without straps. And although I look killer in normal shorts, sitting in them is tantamount to disaster, because it squishes the top half of my legs up and then they just look like… polish-sausage legs… or something. And yes, there are the bathing suits. No matter what feats of engineering they accomplish with their miracle suits and push-up every things, they have yet to master the whole “how to NOT make Amber’s hips look huge” thing. (Someone work on that please… ’cause I’m not wearing those granny-suits… EVER!)

Maybe if I start eating right and excersing on a regular basis, I can lose the fat and keep the nice boobs….

Today I had a friend over, who will remain nameless (because I don’t want to embarrass her) and we had very lovely talks about very lovely things.

Ha!

Okay, so for any of you who have ever wondered what exactly “girl talk” is, this should give you an idea:

Me: “I wish I was a boy sometimes.”

Friend: “Oh my God, I wish I had a dick!… It would be so easy – you could just have sex with all these girls! Slutty girls will do anything, and you wouldn’t even have to worry about it!”

Me: “STD’s maybe”

Friend: “Well yah.”

Me: “It’s weird, I think I would like it better if I was the aggressor… like if I had to get the guy to do things… If I had someone suggesting stuff to me I think it would just make me really uncomfortable.”

Friend: “Yah, yah, yah.”

Me: “If I dated a girl I would totally end up being the guy.”

Friend: “Yah. I would get so annoyed. Like, just shut the hell up and leave me the fuck alone!”

Me: “Oh, I know. Girls are annoying. And it really sucks because when you’re ‘being the girl’ you know it’s annoying… but it’s like ‘all I need you to do is this and then I wouldn’t have to be this way!”

Friend: “Yah, fuck! It’s so simple!”

Me: “I don’t think I could date girls though… because it would be like, in the back of my mind I would still be looking for a guy… so then I would just be a bitch.”

Friend: “I think I would just want to have a threesome or something. But the girl would have to be really gorgeous!”

Me: “Yah. Seriously. But I don’t know, I don’t think I could handle watching my boyfriend have sex with another girl! Like it would be fine if I was with both of them, but if they were together too, I would just be like ‘Get the fuck off him, bitch!'”

Friend: “Seriously. I just need a boyfriend and a girlfriend!”

Me: “Me too!”

Friend: “It’s like I kind of like feminine looking boys and like… androgynous looking girls.”

Me: “Totally… I think I might be okay with a boyfriend who went both ways… and then we could just both go off and have our little trysts, but not cheat on each other with people of the opposite gender! I think it could work.”

Friend: “Maaaybeee….”

And the converstion pretty much went on like that for the rest of the day. Although earlier we were watching Twilight with the commentary on and reading magazines and talking about boys in the typical sense… so we can at least be a little normal!

Hope you enjoyed your private tour through girl world… it can be a disturbing place!

In this phase of my life, I am under constant renovation. I need change, I seek change, so I change myself.

In the past, my many re-inventions where out of some odd compulsion to discover what “type” of girl I was. I simply had to know. And, oddly enough, finding a header to put myself under was no easy task. In fact, I found it so damn impossible to “figure myself out”, that at some point or another, I simply stopped trying. But along the way, it was more than a little funny.

Here are some of the types I thought I might fit into, at some piont, and the reasons why they were eventually a total fail:

Type #1: TheTom boy

Honestly, I have no idea why this type ever occurred to me. I would blame latency (it was around age 10 or 11), but I know for a fact that I did like boys… Come to think of it, did I ever even have a period of latency? Perhaps when I was a tiny baby or something? Anyway, I digress. The reasons for my attraction to this type are unclear, but the reasons for my complete failure at it are not… For one thing, I have zero eye-hand coordination. Sports are evil, I can’t play them. And yes, trying to look “cool” in that hard-core 90’s way *laughs* only made me look like a fool, LIKE A FOOL (Sorry, Phoebe from Friends snuck in at the end there!)

Type #2: The Prepster

This one I tried in middle school (grades 7 and 8, ages 12 and 13), probably because all the white kids at my school (of which I was one) were either band geeks or preps… and there was no way I was going to try and learn an instrument in front of hoards of other kids, so… I tried to be a prep. And yes, I failed. I was painfully shy (although at the time I preferred the term “quiet”) so socializing in general was not one of my strong points… I also had this weird thing about not wanting people to know how little money I had (preps are supposed to be loaded, after all), so when someone asked me where I got my amazing glitter jeans, instead of saying “Sears” (which is where I got them) I said “I don’t remember” (which is unbelievable). Hi, weird much? (The correct answer is “yes”, by the way.)

Type #3: The California Girl

Haha, now this one is funny. Being that I am in fact from California, you would think that personifying the “California Girl” would be easy. Not so. First off, this one was doomed from the start for a very particular reason: I was attempting to imitate my younger sister. My younger sister has always been the prettier one (it’s true), is waaaay easier to get along with than I am (sometimes), and as for that whole “California look” – she has it in spades. I am not saying that I want to be like my younger sister now (because, hello?! – then I wouldn’t get to be me!) but there was a time where I just thought it would be so much easier. Another reason why the California look was not for me? I am VERY pale… and brunette… and I have somewhat sharp features (in places)… and long hair makes me antsy… and oh yah, I’m moody. California? I don’t think so.

Type #4: The Glamour Girl

Being glamorous was never in the cards for me. For one thing, it costs a lot of money, which I don’t have. For another, it costs money which I don’t have. Okay, okay – the real reason why I can in no way be considered for this type is because my lifestyle just doesn’t support it. I work in a small shop in Touristville, where the uniform is jeans and a hideous black t-shirt (I mean really, way to hide all my good curves and make me look more like a line-backer than I ever cared to! Yah… thanks!) I also have no tolerance for alcohol, which makes me dizzy and tired (Not fun? No.)… and I’m pretty sure glamour girls drink. And, right, I’m too immature. No, really, I like Abba SingStar and I own several movies which I mercilessly mock the entire time they are playing… and I like it that way. Maturity? Fabulousness? No thanks, I’ll take childish laughter and enthusiasm any day!

And finally,

Type #5: The Indie Girl

Some of you may already know where this is going… Indie girls can’t play Abba SingStar and like it… they can’t own the movies they mock… and they certainly can’t wear glitter jeans with a pink boat-neck tee and white sneakers (because someone will find that picture, and it will all be over for you). You also have to become a bit of a snob (which I am good at) and know all the cool movies, music, and designers that the rest of the poor bastards out there have never even heard of. I have tried, and in some areas I have succeeded… mostly because by some miracle, almost every time someone would make an obscure reference to something, I would have heard about it exactly two days prior… no joke! In the end though, I knew the truth – I was not cool! And you know what? I’m okay with that.

So there you have it, a myriad of things I am not now, nor will ever be… EVER!

Then what am I, you may ask?

I, my fellow (and female) bloggers, am WEIRD. Yes, that’s right. I have come to accept and even love this about myself and now it is officially time to own it. My name is Amber and I am weird. And proud, bitches!

***

As for those of you who thought I was emo…

You’re wrong. Just becuase I have dark hair and write poetry and pout a lot (that’s just how my face is!) does not mean I am emo. Emo girls don’t like “Mamma Mia!” They’re not allowed.

Recently I have been finding it rather difficult to update this blog on a daily basis. I have posts in mind – things I want to say, things I probably will say but know I shouldn’t, etc. – but I just can’t seem to find the motivation to write when I am actually at a computer! It’s beyond frustrating, especially as I seem to be suffering a decline in readership at the moment…

BUT, I will continue on… because I have to, godamnit! And because, really, why give up now?

So… today I am not feeling all that great (physically)… The shaky/freezing aspect of last night is gone, THANK GOD, but now I have a cough and I sound like a frog. Well, okay, I don’t really sound like a frog… I still have a human voice, but it is just a little froggier sounding than usual!

Because of this momentary impediment in my physical wellness, I slept in REALLY, REALLY late this morning. Okay… it was noon, the morning had gone. I was punished for my lethargy with a splitting headache, but it has since been defeated by an Ibuprofen and coffee chaser. Western drugs, yay! And really, I should not be writing today, because my mood is crap. But I will go on! (Currently, the Spice Girls are playing on my iPod for energy-boosting awesomeness… no joke!)

Aaaanyway,

As it became very clear very quickly that I would not be doing anything productive today, I decided to break out the new NYLON and live vicariously through other people’s creativity. And then, it hit me – the reason why I have been lately feeling so Effing uninspired… I live in a SUBERB! As far as revelations go, this one is not very significant. I have been aware of my address for quite some time, ever since the amnesia wore off and I stopped insisting that people refer to me as Goddess Divine (kidding!)… But I guess the real revelation was in realizing just exactly how much my surroundings have been affecting my state of mind. How can I be inspired in a land where everything stays the same?! Is it any wonder that I feel this strange compulsion to shop/re-invent myself/cultivate ridiculous obsessions every other week?! I think I may be on to something here…

The only question now is – how the hell do I get out of here?

I need to start making more money, that much is clear.

In the past, I thought this meant college, a career, etc. But in going back to school and attempting to figure out what exactly it is that I want to do, I have discovered something – I hate school. Really, truly, physically hate it. I used to think it was my pathetic lack of social skills that made me so miserable in high school, but I was wrong… it was the being forced to sit through six painfully uninteresting classes a day that was the true source of my unhappiness! Of course, the having so few real friends part didn’t help either…

Currently, the plan is to get a Cosmetology license. I already cut and die my own hair, obsess over other people’s (celebrities) appearances, and see potential makeovers everywhere I go… so this should simply be a natural extension of that which I already am… right? I figure that if all goes well, I will be able to move out of my parents house (and into an apartment with oddball roommates… yes!) manage my own affairs (as in, shop, see movies, go to shows, etc.) and maybe, if I’m really good about saving (I’m not), I’ll be able to do some actual travelling – which I NEED… seriously, my soul is dying without it.

I also need to develop more of a personal life… for your sake as much as my own! I realize it is no coincidence that my view count peaks every time I write about one of those silly little crushes of mine… and I sincerely apologize for the utter lack of development in that area.

(Okay, I realize that it is really not necessary to apologize to all of you for simply failing to develop my own personal life… that I am probably, in fact, only transferring my own regrets onto you! But really, I think I would get annoyed if I were reading a story and all the author ever did was introduce love interrests who dissapeared a few pages later. I really will have to do something about that!)